


Greater Than Good

by MissLacybee



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon LGBTQ Male Character, Dark, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay, Godric's Hollow, Hurt, LGBTQ Character, Love, M/M, Past, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Romance, The Deathly Hallows, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLacybee/pseuds/MissLacybee
Summary: Head boy, prefect, winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting - Albus Dumbledore was never made to be shut up at home. The company of his damaged sister and goat-loving brother is not especially appealing when he thinks about everything he could've had if his mother hadn't died.Tired of his own resentment and the suffocating heat of Godric's Hollow, Albus wants nothing more than to escape. He's sick of receiving long letters from Dodge, of hearing about his friend's adventures, travels and discoveries. No one understands that his talent is being wasted at home, that he's even beginning to loathe the tiny village where he grew up.At least, no one does except him. No one understands Albus except the tumultuous whirlwind that is Gellert Grindelwald, who sweeps into the village and threatens to throw Albus into a storm of emotions stronger than he has ever known before. In the haze of summer and the fever of dreams, Albus Dumbledore learns his Number One lesson: love doesn't always conquer everything.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. The Summer of Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! :) This is the story of a significant summer in 1899, the story of friendship, pain and - above all - love. 

**• ONE •**

_**The Summer of Broken Promises** _

The summer breeze blew around the little lane, ruffling the heads of the daisies and rippling the long grass at the edge of the road. Apart from the auburn-haired young man sitting on a gate at the entrance to the graveyard, the lane was completely deserted. The quaint cottages stood still and silent, sheltering from the heat in the shade of trees and hedgerows. Windows on the upper floors had been thrown open, as though the inhabitants of the village still hoped for a gust of cooler wind.

So far, hope had failed them. Godric's Hollow was hot and sticky and stifling. 

The boy on the gate, however, did not seem to be bothered by the heat. He had loosened his collar and thrown his thick, dark jacket onto the fence beside him, his narrow face bowed as though praying. But his skin, despite the warmth of the afternoon, was still ghostly pale, chalk-white against the miserable black of his tie. 

The truth was, Albus Dumbledore didn't even notice the weather. His thoughts were too engaged, too wrapped up in his own feelings to have room for the more mundane aspects of life. His mother had just died, his best friend had gone off without him and he was already sick to the death of being cooped up in this lonely village. It had been four days. Only _four days_. But those four days had seemed like the longest wait of Albus' life. 

He knew he should be less resentful, knew that he should be grateful that he got to spend time with his younger brother and sister. It wasn't Ariana's fault that she was unstable, after all, or that Aberfoth hadn't been there to calm her down. It wasn't anyone's fault that Albus' mother had been killed as a result, or that their father was already in Azkaban, but he still couldn't help feeling angry. Why should he have to stay behind? Why did something like this have to happen _now_? He'd almost been free of Godric's Hollow forever and now here he was, stuck here for the rest of eternity - spoilt, boring and wasted. 

Digging his fingers into the sun-warmed wood of the gate, Albus sighed and let the pain wash over him. His mother dead, his father gone, his brother driven half-mad by grief and his sister locked up to prevent her from killing them all. What was he going to do? 

Bitterly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out a crumpled bit of parchment. His last letter from Elphias, the first he'd heard of his friend since he'd gone off to Greece. Of course, it wasn't Elphias' fault that he'd had to go on their Grand Tour alone. He'd asked if Albus wanted him to stay behind, if Albus wanted to postpone the tour until they were both ready to take it together. But Albus had waved him off. He couldn't stand his friend's pity. 

Besides, he had no idea how long he'd be trapped here. It could be months, it could be years, and he couldn't abandon Aberforth or Ariana. Even if it was sometimes quite tempting. 

He stared at the letter glumly, not wanting to unroll it and see the words in Elphias' scrawl. He did not need another reminder of what he was missing, what he had lost. He did not need to see the truth of it all written down in undeniable reality, did not need to be told that it was 'such a shame' for the thousandth time. Albus _knew_ it was a shame. He knew he was brilliant, that he was wasted, that he was trapped. 

And he loathed himself for it. 

Crumpling up the letter again, he pushed it back into his pocket, the guilt burning through his veins. He was being selfish. He was being ungrateful. After all, he still had people who loved him, still had Ariana and Aberforth and Elphias. The trouble was, he didn't seem to want Elphias' company anymore - or the company of anyone else, for that matter. The loss of his mother seemed to have torn him from the rest of the word, severing what little connections he had left. In his siblings' company, he was more alone than ever. 

"Albus!" 

The warbling voice made Albus jump, despite its familiarity. He hastily slid from the gate and straightened up, trying to look cheerful as the little woman came towards him. "Good afternoon, Mrs Bagshot." 

"Albus, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in the shade? Where's Aberforth?" Bathilda Bagshot, Albus' next-door neighbour, shuffled to a halt and stared at him, her lips pursed. Although she couldn't be much into her middle-ages, Bathilda already had the gait of an old lady and her watery eyes blinked a little in the sun - washed-out, light grey, intelligent. 

"Aberforth is back at the cottage. With his goats," said Albus, his eyes on the dusty path. "I was going for a walk." 

She studied him, her gaze shrewd, and Albus felt the waves of pity radiating from her. "Of course you were, dear. It must be so difficult for you at the moment. Your mother was no age to go and your father didn't deserve to be taken either." 

There was a long silence, while Albus continued to stare at the floor, a falsely-cheerful smile on his face, and Mrs Bagshot watched him steadily. 

"Well, I must be getting off," said Bathilda at last, tearing her gaze from Albus' face. "Nice seeing you, dear. If you need anything - any support, food, money, you name it - you know exactly where to find me. Send me that owl of yours. And I wouldn't say no to reading some of your essays, either." 

"Thank you," said Albus quietly. "But I think we'll manage." 

She smiled a little too understandingly, then turned away, beginning to shuffle back towards the shelter of her cottage. She was halfway down the lane when she turned back and Albus forced the smile to return to his face. 

"Oh, and I was wondering - my nephew will be coming to stay in a day or so. He's a lovely, bright young man and just your age, too. I'd like to introduce you sometime." 

Albus looked up, biting his lip. "Thank you, Mrs Bagshot, but I-" 

"Don't go telling me you'd be better off alone," said Bathilda, her eyes twinkling. "I know how you young men ache for company. But do pop around to visit on Monday. I'm sure Gellert would like someone to talk to, someone to show him around the village." 

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure there's very much to see-" 

But she was already hobbling away, shaking her head and sighing. As she reached the corner and vanished around it, Albus could've sworn he heard the words, "Such a shame. Such an awful shame." 

Albus' heart turned to lead. He tore himself away from the graveyard gate and followed her up the lane to his own home, his own family and his own desolate prison, wishing more than ever that he wasn't alone. 

*** 

"Where the hell were you?" Aberforth's voice was the first thing to reach Albus' ears as he slipped in through the back yard and found himself surrounded by goats. Younger than him by three years and as different from Albus as a brother could be, Aberforth Dumbledore spent almost his whole life rolling in mud and running amok. 

"Don't talk to me like that," said Albus sharply, striding towards the back door of their quiet cottage. 

Aberforth snorted, looking up from the stool on which he sat, his auburn hair tangled. "I'll talk to you how I want. Where were you? _She's_ been in a frenzy since lunchtime, but I don't suppose you'd care when you're off doing Merlin-knows-what." 

Closing the gate behind him, Albus froze and looked up, fear flooding through him, mingling with the guilt. _Oh, God. Ariana._ "She has?" 

"Of course she has," retorted Aberforth, kicking at the straw by his feet. "But, like I said, you don't care. You never care." 

Albus winced, then raised his voice a little more. "Don't be stupid. I care about Ariana just as much as you do. Now tell me what happened. Is she all right?" 

"She's fine. I calmed her down. As usual," said Aberforth, his gaze still on the straw. But, behind the rough tone, there was an odd sort of pride in his voice, the sort of pride which Albus rarely heard. 

He turned away. Rough and unlettered as his younger brother was, Albus knew that Aberforth was far less selfish than he was, far less likely to abandon his family in exchange for glory. And part of Albus was jealous of that. Aberforth had it easy. No one expected anything of him, no one asked him for advice or help. And yet, throughout all his suffering, he was a decent and rational human being. As long as you ignored his inexplicable fondness for goats. 

"You didn't need to do that. I could've done it." The hurt slipped between the cracks in Albus' demeanour before he'd had time to register it. 

Aberforth grunted and reached out to stroke the nearest goat, rubbing his hands through its thick, white hair. "What? You were going to help? You were going to come running when she collapsed on the floor and started trying to blow the house up?" 

"I would've come if you'd called me," said Albus calmly and his brother grunted again. 

"Well, I wouldn't have called you. I don't need you here. I can look after her by myself and it's much nicer for me when I haven't got you butting in." 

"I'm not _butting in,_ Ab, I'm just-" 

Aberforth interrupted. "You're just too busy being Mr Brillant, I know," he spat, glaring at Albus with his piercing blue eyes. As unlike as the brothers were in personality, their parent's looks were at least reflected in both of them. "Go back upstairs and complain to old Batty Bagshot. _She'll_ understand what a waste it is to have you cooped up at home." 

Anger surged through Albus and he turned, with one hand on the cool, rusting doorknob, to look back. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm head of the household and you'll do as I say. Stop talking to me like I don't know better than you, because you're my stringy younger brother and you hardly know anything. Now, if you'll stop whining, I'm going to see Ariana." 

Aberforth stood up. He was almost as tall as Albus already and he seemed to tower over his brother as he stood in the dingy yard, seething with rage. "Like hell you are. You're not going near her." 

"Excuse me, I _am_ and you're not going to stop me." 

"You think?" 

Albus looked down. Aberforth's wand had been withdrawn from inside his jacket, pointing at Albus' face. He took a step backwards before pulling out his own, the wood of the door warm and hard beneath his back. "Put that away. You don't know what you're doing." 

The wand didn't move. 

"I said, put that away, Ab. You're underage." 

"What if I don't care?" 

Anger returned again. " _I_ care. Do you think I want another family member carted off to Azkaban? Put it away." 

Very slowly, still glaring up at his older brother, Aberforth lowered the wand and tucked it back inside his pocket. He sat back down on the stool, the goats around him munching happily, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. "Fine. But I'm doing it for her, not for you." 

"Good," said Albus, lowering his own wand. He could feel his fingers trembling on its handle and he hoped Aberforth hadn't noticed. "I'm making dinner later, so be back in the house by six. I won't be here on Monday. Mrs Bagshot has invited me to visit." 

Aberforth said nothing, only stroked the white goat with a little more vigour.

Albus turned the doorknob and practically fell into the small, cramped kitchen, shutting the door so hard behind him that the rickety doorframe rattled. Several fragments of peeling paint rained down on his head, and a pot on the kitchen table fell to the floor and shattered. 

Albus sighed, flicking his wand. " _Reparo_." The pot flew back to the table and mended itself, while Albus strode over to the door at the other end of the room and ducked through it into the low-ceilinged hallway. The whole house seemed even more cramped, old and revoltingly quaint this summer. Even the roses around the front, which he had previously liked, were enough to make him nauseous. 

He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the landing, then slipped into the safety of his own bedroom. As he closed the door, he heard soft singing coming from the room across from the landing, the sweet, melodious voice of his fourteen-year-old sister. She was in a good mood. That was something. 

Albus pushed his overlong hair out of his eyes and sank onto the bed, which creaked in protest. He sighed. It was only three years. Three years of being shut away, of being dull, bored and wasted, then Aberforth would turn seventeen and he would be free. 

But it looked like an awfully long three years from where he sat, consumed by his own thoughts, in the sticky heat of the summer. And he hardly knew how he was going to survive it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I realise that this is not the sort of thing I usually write, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. I haven't abandoned my Marauder-era series, don't worry, but I had a random surge of inspiration a few days ago and decided to write the story of Dumbledore and Grindelwald alongside my other stuff. 
> 
> I have no idea where this will go or how good it will be. Romance has never been my strongest point XD 
> 
> If you're reading this, please let me know what you think. Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle? It would really help me improve :) 
> 
> Thanks! 
> 
> ~ Lacy 


	2. And Then He Came

• _**TWO**_ •

_**And Then He Came** _

"I'm going out."

"Of course you are."

The heat was back again and the two brothers stood in the tiny kitchen, facing each other on either side of the scrubbed wooden table. Aberforth's wand drummed against his thigh as he watched Albus, whose blue eyes kept straying to the window. Bathilda would be expecting him any minute.

"I'll need you to make dinner for Ariana. There should be some bread in the larder-"

"I don't need you to tell me what to do. I make dinner half the time, anyway."

Albus sighed, looking down into his younger brother's defiant face. "I know you do. But I'm just trying to look out for you."

"I don't need looking out for. Especially not by you."

The heat rose in Albus' face. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, taking a couple of steps backwards.

Aberforth shrugged. "Nothing. You're just a terrible babysitter."

Seeing red, Albus opened his mouth to argue, to reason, to make his brother see sense. But then he closed it again. There was no point. Aberforth had always been mouthy. Their relationship had always been strained, even more so since the death of their mother, when they'd finally lost the person who could reconcile them. "If you say so. But you won't have to worry about that today because I'm visiting Mrs Bagshot."

"Good riddance," muttered Aberforth, turning away, his fist clenching on the handle of his wand. "I hope she and her great-nephew rot with you in hell."

"Aberforth!"

"What? It's true. I don't care if you're my brother. That doesn't make you a saint."

Albus sighed and made for the door, the summer breeze brushing his cheek as he passed the open window. Outside, he could hear distant voices - Bathilda's window must be open. "Look, Ab, I don't have time for this. I'm sorry you don't like me, but you're all I have. I need you to cooperate. And if you won't cooperate, then... well, I'm going to have to make you."

Aberforth opened his mouth to snap back, but Albus talked over him.

"I don't want to hear your ridiculous talk. I need to get going. If I'm not back before seven, you can put Ariana to bed, all right?"

"Fine," Aberforth mumbled, glaring at the floor. "And I'll leave the window in your room open. It'll be boiling in there, otherwise."

"Thank you," said Albus quietly. The two brothers looked at each other.

"See you later," grunted Aberforth at last, slumping into a rickety chair.

Albus pulled the kitchen door open and disappeared into the hall, turning back to Aberforth as he went. "Bye." He closed the door behind him, then slipped out of the front entrance, making his way down the garden path towards the dusty lane. The sweet scent of the roses reached him as he passed the garden gate, followed by the tang of mown grass. Bathilda's honeysuckle joined the medley as he arrived at the cottage next door.

Politely, he knocked on the blue-painted wood, hearing Mrs Bagshot's voice floating through the living room window. There was a slight break in the conversation as the people within registered his presence, then an unfamiliar voice reached Albus' ears.

"Aunt? Is that your visitor?"

Mrs Bagshot gasped. "Oh, bless my dragon horns, it must be. You stay here, Gellert dear, I'll let Albus in."

Albus stood there and waited, the back of his neck sticky under the glare of the afternoon sun. There came the sounds of shuffling footsteps, the clink of heavy bolts, and then the smell of honeysuckle was outdone by the aroma of lavender perfume and freshly-baked cakes. Bathilda Bagshot appeared in the doorframe.

"Oh, Albus, you came! Do come in; Gellert's been itching to see you."

"Thank you," replied Albus, as he stepped past Bathilda into the hallway. The scent of baking was even more powerful here and his mouth watered.

Bathilda smiled at his expression. "I made a whole tray of cakes especially for you," she told him, leading the way towards the living room. "You can't have been eating well since poor Kendra went."

"I've been managing," said Albus, stiffening, but Bathilda was already pushing open the door and noticed nothing.

They emerged in a small, homely little room full of squashy armchairs and lace. Stubs of candle wax dripped over the edge of the candelabras and a series of familiar gilt-framed photographs were clustered on the mantlepiece. Bathilda led Albus into one of two empty chairs by the fireside, and he dropped down into it, grateful for the fact that for once the fire was not lit.

"You just sit there, that's it. Make yourself comfortable while I see to those cakes." Bathilda shuffled back out of the room and Albus continued to look around.

"Hello. You must be Albus." The voice came so suddenly that Albus almost fell out of his chair. It was confident but lilting, the words pronounced with deliberate but imperfect precision.

Turning, Albus saw that a stranger had moved out of the shadows, appearing from the most distant corner. He was tall and fair, with shoulder-length golden curls and azure eyes. His whole face seemed to glow with mischievous life, seemed alight with youthful eagerness, and Albus' breath hitched.

"Yes," he said quietly, as the boy looked down at him. "My name is Albus. Albus Dumbledore."

"I am Gellert Grindelwald. Old Batty's relative. From Durmstrang."

"Durmstrang?" repeated Albus in bewilderment.

Gellert smiled, his eyes dancing. "Yes. I was expelled for... matters I could not help. But _you_ went to Hogwarts, or so my aunt tells me."

"Yes," said Albus, as Gellert sat down next to him in the other armchair, his eyes still locked on Albus'.

"And you are a great wizard."

The ghost of a smile found its way to Albus' lips. "Well, so they say."

"Here you are, boys." Bathilda was back in the room again, squeezing herself in between Albus' chair and the round coffee table to set down the tray of cakes. "They've got blueberries in them, I picked the berries last week- Oh, Gellert, so you've met Albus?"

Gellert smiled again as his aunt looked from Albus to him, brushing flour off her robes. "Yes, I have, aunt. And I think we will be firm friends."

Bathilda beamed as she straightened up. "How lovely! I was going to ask Albus about his latest Transfiguration paper, but why don't I let you two talk? Poor Albus has been alone ever since his mother died. I'm sure he'd appreciate the company."

Reaching out for a cake, Albus froze; Gellert's expression had morphed into one of concern. He tried to smile as Bathilda backed away, but his fingers shook as he touched the china plate.

As soon as Bathilda was gone, Gellert's eyebrows knitted. "Your mother is dead?" he asked quietly. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Please don't be." Albus didn't think he could stand any more pity. "It was an accident."

Gellert's frown turned back into a smile. "You are tired of all the sympathy, then?" he asked, taking a cake of his own and biting into it.

Albus bit into his too and a sweet, plump blueberry burst over his tongue. "Yes. In a way. I know people mean well, but it makes it much harder to bear when all I hear is 'poor Albus. Poor, poor Albus'."

Laughing, Gellert slumped back in his armchair. "I have never thought of it that way. Tell me about Hogwarts. It is a huge castle, am I right? Somewhere far north of here?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Albus finished the cake, nodding as he did so. "Yes. I left about a week ago. It's supposed to be one of the best schools there is - apart from Durmstrang, of course."

Gellert inclined his head. "I think so too. But then, Hogwarts has never thought much of the Dark Arts, has it? I've always thought that it lacks a little there."

"You have?"

There was silence. Albus wasn't sure what to say and Gellert, it seemed, preferred to watch Albus rather than talk. Slowly, one by one, the plate of blueberry muffins emptied, yet the boys still looked at each other, eyes wide, keen to learn every detail of the other's face.

"How did you get expelled?" The question had risen to Albus' lips more than once already, and now it burst from him without permission. He watched his new friend apprehensively for a moment, half afraid that he'd crossed some invisible line, but Gellert's face remained as good-humoured as ever.

"Are you certain you want to know?"

Albus hesitated. _What if it was something truly awful?_ He'd only known the other boy for ten minutes. But hunger for knowledge overpowered his misgivings. "I want to know everything."

Gellert smiled. "My aunt does not know I was expelled. She thinks I have come to see more of her, to see more of England."

"She certainly thinks well of you."

"Oh, many people do. Many are taken in by my charm."

The smile widened and Albus was overcome by the brilliance radiating from his face, captivated by the power Gellert Grindelwald held. He fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt, brushing invisible crumbs from his lap. "So. You were saying about Durmstrung."

"Oh, yes." Shaking his curls off his face, Gellert's face became serious. He leaned forwards and, without being aware of it, Albus did the same. "Durmstrang was my home for many years. It was powerful, it was influential and I learned a great deal. But it had rules, strict rules, and I found them to be... limiting."

The delicate stress laid on the word made Albus shiver. "What sort of limiting?"

"I craved power," replied Gellert. "I wanted to rule, to dominate, to learn. My experiments were frowned upon by the staff and my inferiors. They believed I was growing too influential; they dismissed me."

"But why?" Albus' mind was reeling. Experiments... Domination... Learning... Here was a boy who at last understood him, who knew the pull of fate, the temptations of power.

A humourless smile twisted Gellert's features, tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "The weak envy the strong. The poor overthrow the rich. You'll know all about jealousy, of course."

He wasn't just referring to Albus' knowledge, the gleam in his eyes said that. Gellert didn't even know about the students who had followed and praised Albus at school. He felt the pull of the young wizard's charisma as though it was a rope, as though they were bonded together by a physical silver thread, and he shivered.

"How long have you been trapped here?"

"About a week," replied Albus quietly, now certain Gellert knew how he'd been feeling. "I was going to go on a Grand Tour of Europe with my friend Elphias Dodge."

"But your mother's death forced you to return here?"

Albus smiled bitterly. "I have younger siblings to care for."

Gellert leant backwards, tilting his head towards the ceiling, and Albus' eyes went to the expanse of white skin exposed just above his collar. "Ah..." He looked back at Albus again, and his gaze was questioning. " _Magical_ siblings?"

"Sort of." The truth of Ariana's predicament went through him like a knife.

Gellert seemed to know what he was thinking. His eyes sparkled. "You are very reserved with me," he told Albus, and Albus looked down at his fingernails, examining the smooth, white hands that rested in his lap.

He said nothing.

"Is it just that I am a stranger or do you act like this with everyone?"

Albus looked up, biting his lip.

Gellert smiled. "Tell me about your siblings."

"I..." Glancing up at Gellert, Albus sighed and slumped back against the cushions of his chair. "I have a younger brother, Aberforth, who still goes to Hogwarts. But it's the summer, so he's home for two months. And I have a-" he faltered and Gellert's eyebrows contracted.

"Go on."

Albus fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. "I have a younger sister, too. Ariana. But she's... She doesn't go to Hogwarts."

Curiosity flashed across the other boy's expression, but his gaze did not waver from Albus. "She is a squib?"

Albus winced. "No," he said flatly. "She is just... ill."

"I see." Gellert seemed to know that it would be useless to press the subject. A faint crease had appeared on his forehead, but it faded as his smile returned. "Well, I suppose I should stop asking questions. I wouldn't want to scare you away."

"You won't."

The smile widened. "Really?" Gellert asked and Albus hesitated before nodding.

"Yes."

Silence fell for the first time. Albus sat there, motionless, his eyes on the little wooden clock on the mantlepiece. It sat there ticking, its sound mingling with the clatters and murmurs of Mrs Bagshot as she bustled around the kitchen. It was a few seconds before he realised that Gellert's eyes were on the mantlepiece too. He turned. A few inches away from the clock was another cluster of photographs, silver-framed this time, their occupants waving out at the cluttered living room. At the very back, curly-haired and laughing, was a blonde-haired boy who looked barely older than thirteen.

Albus' eyes widened.

"Me," said Gellert unnecessarily, turning from the framed picture to look at Albus. "Old Batty asked my mother for that picture. She's been longing to see me for years, but I never came to Godric's Hollow before now." His eyes travelled back to the photograph again, his expression thoughtful. "Bathilda is my great-aunt. And a celebrated historian."

Albus smiled slightly. "I know," he told Gellert. "I've been in touch with her since we moved here."

"You moved here?"

Pain flashed through Albus' chest. "From Mould-on-the-Wold. We've lived here for eight years."

"I see."

Albus felt Gellert's eyes on his face, searching it curiously. He turned away.

"How are you getting on, boys?" Bathilda was back, standing in the doorway, her grey eyes crinkled. An apron covered most of her robes, and she had a wand in one hand and a saucepan in the other.

Gellert beamed at Albus. "Very well, thank you. Albus has been telling me about his family."

Albus tried to smile as Bathilda's expression sobered.

"Oh, yes, of course, the poor dear. How are they getting on, Albus? Aberforth hasn't been doing anything odd to those goats of his, has he?"

"No," said Albus, dropping his gaze to his lap.

A softer look came into Bathilda's eyes. "And Ariana? How is she? Has she been coping since the accident?"

"Yes. She has."

"Poor Kendra. She worked herself far too hard for Ariana and now she's-"

"I know."

There was a long pause. Bathilda seemed to sense the awkwardness in the air. Albus kept his eyes on his lap, studying the fabric of his clothing, counting the cake crumbs which littered it. Gellert's eyes, he knew, were still on him.

"Would you like me to invite them around for dinner?" asked Bathilda, failing to dispel the pity from her voice. "It would be no trouble at all and it's such a shame that Aberforth has to cook."

Albus hesitated, glancing at Gellert. _How long could the truth about Ariana stay hidden?_

Bathilda seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Does he know?" she asked Albus, ignoring her great-nephew's questioning look.

Albus shrank backwards slightly. "No."

"Oh, dear. Well, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt. I'll invite them, shall I? Would you like to stay here while I run around and-?"

Very quickly, Albus stood up. "No. You mustn't bother yourself. I'll go."

"Are you sure-?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." Unable to look at any of them, he strode to the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Thank you for the cakes. I shouldn't be long."

Bathilda's anxious voice floated to him through the door. "You're very welcome, dear," Albus heard her say and then, without another word, he slipped from the house and down the garden path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the second chapter :) I hope it was okay. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last one - it means a lot! I've never written anything like this before, so your feedback is very helpful.
> 
> ~ Lacy


	3. Masters of Death

_**• THREE •** _

**_Masters of Death_ **

Albus entered his family's tiny kitchen to find Aberforth and Ariana curled up in a corner of the floor, a sack of marbles spread out around them. The warm smell of onion soup lingered in the air and Albus approached his siblings cautiously. 

"Ab?" 

The grubby teenager looked up. So did Arianna, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. "What?" grunted Aberforth, while Ariana resumed rolling the little glass balls around the floor. 

Albus sat down in one of the hard-backed, wooden chairs. "I've just come from Mrs Bagshot's house." 

"And what does the batty old woman want now?" 

Albus glared at his younger brother. "Don't call her a 'batty old woman'." 

"Batty _young_ woman, then," Aberforth muttered, his arm still around Ariana. But his expression faltered slightly as he caught sight of Albus' wand, which he was fumbling with in his lap. "All right, I won't call her that. What does she want?" 

Glancing down at his wand himself, Albus' grip on it tightened. "Nothing. She just wanted to invite you around for dinner." 

There was a silence, broken only by Ariana's soft humming and the clink of glass on stone. 

Aberforth turned away. "Remembered us, has she? Feeling sorry for the brother and half-mad sister of the brilliant Albus Dumbledore?" 

"No," said Albus, his eyes still on his wand. The smell of the soup made his head spin and his stomach growl, even though he'd already eaten several of Bathilda's cakes. "She just wanted you to be fed. She said it was a shame that you had to make dinner." 

Aberforth gave a small grunt. "Don't worry. I'm used to it." 

"Well, you don't have to be used to it. Come and have dinner with us." 

The grunt turned to a snort of disgust. "And why should I? When has it ever been 'us'? I've never given a damn about your stupid dinner parties and as for Ariana-" He broke off as she wriggled under his arm, her child-like hands shifting to cover her ears. 

The humming had stopped. 

"Ariana?" asked Albus quietly, scraping back his chair. He half-rose from it, his heart pounding, terrified that they'd set her off with their raised voices. It always took so little to startle her these days. 

Aberforth turned on his brother as Ariana writhed again. "Now look what you've done!" he hissed, his eyes flashing. "You've gone and upset her like you always do!" 

"It wasn't-" Albus stopped talking as the fear became too much to bear. "What's she doing?" he breathed instead, sliding out of his chair and dropping to his knees beside them both. 

Ariana uttered a soft little scream, her whole body tensing in Abeforth's arms. The two brothers watched with growing horror as their sister began to thrash harder than ever, her teeth grinding, her eyes wide and scared. 

"Ariana?" whispered Aberfoth, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. Albus noticed he was shaking. "Ariana? Ari, it's okay. It's okay." 

"Let me see her," said Albus firmly, starting forwards. But Aberforth shook his head. 

"No. Don't touch her. You've done enough," he hissed and Albus fell backwards, curling his knees to his chest as the cold from the hard stone seeped through his skin. 

He watched as Aberforth leaned forwards, his breath tickling his little sister's ear, murmuring words of comfort that meant nothing to Albus. Slowly, Ariana sat up, her fists unclenching, her shoulders relaxing. She curled into a ball among the marbles, her head resting against Aberforth's chin, mumbling to herself and moaning. 

Albus' grip relaxed on the handle of his wand. "She's okay." 

Aberforth snorted. " _This_ time. You're lucky she didn't explode anything." He leant down again to wrap his arms around Ariana's narrow body and she squeezed him back, burrowing her face into his chest, her blonde hair falling everywhere. 

"I'm sorry," breathed Albus, his voice cracking. 

"You should be. You're always setting her off with your know-it-all talk. It's not fair." 

"I don't-" 

"You do. When have _I_ ever hurt her?" 

Albus winced. "I'd never do anything to Ariana, Ab, you know I wouldn't." 

"Not on purpose, maybe," replied Aberforth, "but you don't always know you're doing it. That's the worst type of hurting of all." 

As pain twinged in Albus' chest, his hand fell limply at his side. The wand slipped from between his fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling to a halt somewhere beneath his chair. Aberforth was right. Aberforth was _always_ right. Albus had never been good with love. Everyone he cared about ended up hurt - his father, his mother, his brother, his sister. Even Elphias had been abandoned to go off on his own around the world. 

A bitter smile twisted Albus' lips. 

"What is going on?" The light, lilting voice came from directly behind the two brothers, startling them both. Even Ariana pulled away from Aberforth's chest to stare. 

Albus bent to pick up his wand, then straightened up, his cheeks flushed, coming face-to-face with azure-blue eyes and familiar golden curls. "Gellert!" 

"You've been an awfully long time." Gellert folded his arms in the doorway, his eyes roaming the tiny, cluttered kitchen that so resembled Bathilda's. "Old Batty sent me to fetch you." 

"Who are you?" snapped Aberforth, climbing to his feet and glaring over Albus' shoulder at Gellert. 

Albus stood up between them, his fingers shaking. "Ab, don't be rude-" 

But Aberforth's wand had been withdrawn from his cloak, pointing straight at the intruder. "I said, who are you? What do you want? What are you doing here?" 

"Aberforth-" said Albus, a little more loudly this time, looking desperately at Gellert. He half-expected the blue eyes to be cold, to be angry, but to his surprise, Gellert was still smiling. 

"I am Gellert Grindelwald. You do not know me. Now lower your wand." 

Aberfroth didn't move. 

Gellert's fingers twitched towards his pocket, his expression unwavering. "Lower it. Now." 

Slowly, still glaring at the older boy, Aberforth's wand arm dropped several inches. 

The smile grew wider. "Good. Albus, Batty told me to come and get you. She said she understands if you'd rather eat with your brother and sister, but-" 

Behind Albus, Aberforth snorted. "He sure as hell ain't eating here. He can stay at your place, keep out of the way for once." 

Gellert's eyes hardened. He turned to Aberforth, and Albus momentarily lost sight of his face. "Do not interrupt me," he said, his voice resounding off the kitchen walls. Ariana cowered against the dresser and Aberforth fell silent. "As I was telling Albus, my aunt is happy to end the visit if you would like it, but she wants to know that you are all right." 

Albus bit his lip, looking from his brother to Gellert and back again. "I'm fine. Aberforth and Ariana will come with me for dinner." 

"No, we ruddy well won't!" snapped Aberforth, dropping down beside Ariana. "I'm not sitting through one of your stupid dinners and I'll thank you not to make my decisions for me." 

Albus ignored this. "Ariana is delicate so we might need to be careful." 

"Haven't I already told you, we're not going!" 

Gellert looked from Albus' serene face to Aberforth's tense one, his smirk widening. "We have a difference of opinion? Well, this _is_ a problem." 

"It wouldn't be a problem if he'd just listen!" snarled Aberforth, his face inches from Albus'. "But he never does, even though he's supposed to be so brilliant." 

Albus turned away. "Ab, stop talking. You'll upset Ariana." 

"Upset Ariana? Me? _You_ were the one setting her off with your high-and-mighty talk earlier!" But Aberforth stopped shouting, breathing heavily, his nostrils flared and his wand raised. 

Albus saw him throw a frightened half-glance at Ariana, who mercifully didn't seem to have noticed the scene. But Gellert followed the two brothers' gaze, staring down at the crumpled little figure on the floor as though putting two and two together. 

"What happened to your sister?" he asked quietly. 

"None of your business," snapped Aberforth, but Albus bit his lip. 

"She's ill," he murmured. "I told you back at your aunt's house. She's too ill to go to school." Beside him, he felt Aberforth stir. 

"Why the hell are you telling him? He doesn't even know you." 

Gellert glared. "I happen to be Albus' friend. Now stop being child-like and leave us to talk about something useful." 

Aberfroth raised an eyebrow but didn't move. "Like what?" 

"I have told you to leave." 

"Gellert," said Albus softly, sensing danger. "Gellert, don't talk to Aberforth like that. It's not his fault, he's just-" 

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," said Aberfroth loudly. "But I wouldn't stay here if you paid me a thousand Galleons. I'm going and you can have dinner without me. Come on, Ari." He bent to help Ariana up and, eyes wide, she followed him from the room, the hem of her blue skirt drifting out of sight. 

Gellert's eyes followed its motion as the door closed behind them. 

Albus began to grow uneasy, but Gellert still seemed to be smiling and, at last, he broke the silence. 

"Do you have a bedroom?" 

"Yes. Of course." 

"Is it a private place to talk?" 

"Yes." 

"Then we shall go to it. I want to tell you something." 

Wondering what on Earth could be so important, Albus followed his new friend out of the kitchen and into the hallway. They climbed the stairs together, listening for Aberforth and Ariana. As they reached the faded door that led to his small, old-fashioned bedroom, Albus caught the sound of voices drifting through from the room next door. He hesitated. 

"My siblings might be able to hear us," he told Gellert, one hand on the doorknob. "If what you have to say is dangerous-" 

"It doesn't matter," said Gellert carelessly and Albus pushed the door open, leading the way inside. True to his word, Aberforth had left the window open and the light scent of roses drifted through on the warm summer air. 

Albus sat down on the bed, feeling awkward. He had a feeling his cheeks were turning pink. 

Gellert peered around at the soft wallpaper, the worn oak furniture and the bookcases on the walls. "This is a pleasant room." 

Albus stared at a spot on the bare floorboards. "Thank you." 

"You have a lot of books," said Gellert, turning to run his hand over some of their spines. " _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling... _Jinxes for the Jinxed_... _A History of Magic_... You are a fan of my great-aunt's work, then? And what's this?" He had stopped at the very end of the bookshelf, where a peeling book of runes had been tucked behind a copy of _Confronting the Faceless_. 

Albus said nothing and Gellert slid the book from the shelf, his expression curious. 

" _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. The original?" 

Albus nodded. 

"Ah. Well, now this will make everything much easier." Gellert turned, still tracing the faded letters on the front cover of the book, pouring over them as though there was some great treasure concealed inside, and Albus watched him, shivering slightly in the summer air. "You know the tales?" 

"Naturally. My mother told them to me when I was a child. _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ has always been my favourite." 

A flicker of triumph danced in Gellert's azure eyes. "It has? Then I am glad, for I wish to tell you something and your knowledge of the book will be very valuable to me. Stay sitting." 

Albus crossed his legs, curiosity flickering through his chest along with the pain - memories of his mother reading the book to him when he was young, arguments with Aberforth over who's turn it was to pick the story, their father's mellow laugh resounding off the walls... 

Gellert remained standing, now flicking through the stiff, yellowing pages. "Let me read the story to you again." 

"I already know it by heart," replied Albus. He closed his eyes. " _T_ _here were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across_ -" 

"Very good," Gellert smiled. "But do you know the _true_ meaning behind the tale?" 

"I-" Albus looked up into the bright eyes and felt his head spinning. He shifted his attention back to his hands, swallowing. "Yes, I've heard the legend." 

"Masters of Death, Albus. _Masters of Death_." 

Albus shook his head. "It's not possible," he murmured. " _Tamper with the deepest mysteries - the source of life, the essence of self - only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind._ You must know what Adalbert Waffling says about meddling with the lines between life and death. The story is a myth. A fascinating myth but a myth nonetheless." 

Gellert smiled. "Myths are born from legends. And legends are the children of fact." 

Albus said nothing to this. He knew that already, but the idea that there was some sort of truth to the tale terrified as much as it thrilled him. _An unbeatable wand, a stone of resurrection and the most powerful invisibility cloak the world had ever known._ The idea that they were real sent tremors running through him, a desperate wish to dive into the deepest, most murky realms of magic and never return. 

"You know they are real as much as I do," whispered Gellert, bending down so his breath tickled the top of Albus' head. His voice was laced with hunger, but Albus kept his eyes on his lap, afraid to see his own thirst reflected in the other boy's face. "The three brothers - you must know who they are, you must have heard of their power. The Peverell brothers-" 

"I know who they are," said Albus flatly. "Antioch, Cadmus, Ignotus... My mother told me. They were the three brothers described in the tale-" 

"The ones who took those gifts from Death." Gellert dropped down beside him and Albus felt the mattress creak as it sunk. "Albus, if the brothers are real, the Hallows must be too. Think of their power, the strength they could bring us! Tell me you feel the same pull that I do, that same curiosity." 

"Gellert-" Albus glanced up, searching the other boy's face. The hunger he had dreaded seeing gleamed in his eyes, the craving for knowledge that he himself had repressed for years. "Gellert, it's a fairytale." 

Gellert's gaze intensified. "A fairytale with centuries' worth of proof to fall back on." 

Albus sighed. It would be reckless to give in to the temptation that hat haunted him for years, to throw himself into the thicket of his wildest dreams. He remembered his childhood, the nights he had spent lying in moonlight, his eyes wide awake - thinking, _wondering_. He remembered searching the pages of books for a deeper meaning to the tale, finally giving up and confronting his mother; _is it real?_ he had asked her. _is it real? Were there three objects that the brothers took from Death?_

And she had told him the story of the Peverell brothers, the tales that stemmed from them over the centuries, the tales of their power, their cunning, and the unbeatable wand that Gellert was now asking him to believe in. It was a childish dream, a dangerous dream. But it was a dream which tempted him beyond all others. 

"All right. There might be a wand. But I doubt the other two are real." 

Gellert slumped backwards on the bed, laughing. "Oh, Albus Dumbledore. You are so _mundane_." 

Albus flushed. "I beg your pardon?" 

"You are." He stopped laughing and lay there, his fingers inches from Albus' leg, his golden curls falling over the sheets. "You are so mundane, it is like talking to my aunt. _She_ could never believe in anything unless it was shoved under her nose, either." 

"I confess I've never really had much patience for Divination." 

Gellert's eyes sparkled. "You haven't?" He sat up again and studied Albus' face more seriously. "Broaden your mind, Albus. Believe in the unknown. The Deathly Hallows are real and we will unite them. Trust me." 

For a few seconds, Albus hesitated. He'd lost everything, been forced into a life of shame and exile just because he trusted his parents when they told him everything would be fine. It had _never_ been fine. And yet, as he looked into the other boy's face and studied the mystery of his features, he felt himself letting Gellert's words wash over him. 

"All right," he said heavily. "I will." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it and, if you have any suggestions or feedback, feel free to let me know. I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially as I pretty much have no idea what I'm doing XD


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